Passion Play (River of Souls 1)

“She likes prunes better,” Nadine said tartly.

They began to bicker, in the way old friends do. When Ilse stood to leave, they broke off only long enough to say good-bye.

With some relief, she came to the quiet upper regions of the pleasure house. No lamps burned here, leaving the halls in a pleasant half-light from the windows, their corners and alcoves brushed with faint shadows. By habit, she stopped by her office. Kathe had sent up a carafe of tea. Ilse poured herself a cup and sifted through a few invitations that had arrived in the past hour. A boating party with Lady Ulik and her family. A visit to the theater with Lord Rossim. An announcement of someone’s marriage. All of them went into her letter box, for Lord Kosenmark’s attention the next day. Or the day after, she thought. She had no idea how long he and Lord Dedrick would seclude themselves. She rubbed her head, which ached fiercely.

“Mistress Ilse?”

Ilse looked up. A runner stood in the door, an apologetic look on his face. “I did knock,” he said hastily. “Three times. It’s just that there’s a gentleman below. He says he’s to meet with you today, and that it cannot wait.”

One of Lord Kosenmark’s agents? she thought, her pulse beating faster. So far, she had met only Faulk. Then she recalled Mistress Denk mentioning that she had recently contracted with an architect for a pavilion in the upper gardens. “Did you send word to Mistress Denk or Lord Kosenmark?” she asked.

“No, Mistress. The gentleman said most definitely that he wished to speak with you.”

Very strange. “Send him up, then. And let Kathe know I’d like tea and fruit for our visitor.”

She searched through her cabinets for any papers concerning the pavilion. Mistress Denk had given her a copy of the plans and the initial estimate. Perhaps the architect had new drawings, or he wanted to confirm when to start work. If so, she would have to speak with Lord Kosenmark …

“Therez.”

Ilse froze. It was a man’s voice, soft as a whisper and low, with an accent she had not heard in over six months. Very slowly, she turned around.

Her father stood in the doorway. Tall and lean, just as before, but with a stoop to his frame. He was dressed in plain traveling clothes, gray layered upon gray, which gave him the air of having materialized from the shadows. In a way, he had.

“Therez?” he said, his voice uncertain now.

“How did you find me?” she choked out.

Petr Zhalina blinked and glanced around the office, taking in the books and writing supplies and locked chests. There was a new hesitation in his manner, as though he did not quite believe that he was looking at his daughter. “Never mind how. You are well?”

Ilse made a quick gesture. “Dobru. At least—well enough.”

Another pause while he stared at her. Then he cleared his throat. “Why didn’t you write to us?”

She said nothing. What could she say that she had not made clear by running away?

When she didn’t answer, Petr Zhalina frowned. “I looked everywhere for you. Everywhere. I sent Gersi out with messages to all the cities and towns within three days’ ride. I wrote your cousins in Duenne, asking if you’d found your way there. I even wrote to my uncles in Duszranjo.”

“Duszranjo?” she said, at last startled into speech. “Why there?”

He shrugged. “Because you always talked about it. Remember how you begged your grandmother for stories?”

That was years ago, when I was a child. Or have you forgotten?

“I wouldn’t go there,” she said. “I would have gone to Duenne—”

She broke off at the sudden quiet appearance of Hanne in the foyer, carrying a tray laden with dishes and carafes and cups. Ah yes, the refreshments. From the look on Hanne’s face, the girl had overheard enough to wonder and worry.

“Thank you, Hanne,” Ilse said quickly. “Just leave the tray on the table. We can serve ourselves.”

Hanne slipped past Petr Zhalina into Ilse’s office. As she set the tray on the table, she lifted her gaze to Ilse’s. Ilse gave a tiny shake of her head. Hanne sank into a brief curtsy and hurried from the room and down the stairs. But in making way for Hanne, Petr Zhalina had come inside the office. Now he stood just a few feet away, with only the desk between them.

He’s just a visitor. He cannot do anything more to me.

Kathe had included a carafe of wine and a plate of sugar biscuits, as well as the tea and fruit. Ilse gestured toward the tray. “Would you like tea or wine? Something to eat?”

“Tea. If you please.”

He spoke stiffly, clearly uneasy. Eyeing him with discreet glances, Ilse poured tea for him. He looked older, far older than half a year would make. His hair had gone entirely silver, and there was a new pinched look to his face. She could almost see the bones through his skin.